


Kylo Ren And The Wet T-Shirt

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9018646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo has an... accident.





	

“What _happened_ to you?”  


“There was… an incident.” His weight rocks onto the sides of his feet, his head ducked to curtain his face in hair.   


“Which led to your clothes…?”  


Kylo hurls a bag over his shoulder. It lands on the floor.

And… well, it squelches. And - from the sounds of it - the things inside are _oozing_. Which is never a good thing for anything to be doing, in Phasma’s experience. The smell reminds her of–

“ _Did you end up in the trash compactor?”_  


Kylo shudders, and she now knows why she recognises the smell. 

“Put those in the industrial laundry, or **burn** them, preferably.” Burn them, then throw the ashes out the airlock, so they can never be smelled again.   


He slumps, and then vanishes for a few minutes. When he comes back, he’s still wearing…

Well. The pants are a half a size too tight, which leads to _very interesting views_ of where his little Kylo is currently residing. She’s also sure that if she sees him from behind that she’ll get a nice outline of his ass-crack. 

They’re also too short. By about… an inch. Leaving his ankles bare, and he’s not in footwear, either. Those probably also fell victim to the _thing_ , and she can entirely empathise. Especially considering she knows how it feels to be Too Tall for everything and everyone else. Nothing anyone else wears will fit him, except _possibly_ her things, or Hux’s. 

Her eyes slide up his torso to a tank top that shows off his arms (scarred as they are, lightning-white strikes and patches that will never darken again), and clings to his chest and nipples. Which. Perk through the fabric, and she can _see them because apparently he’s wearing a wet shirt_.

Did he try to shower _clothed_? Or did he just not have a towel? The pants look dry, so there’s obviously a story behind it. 

His hair hangs limp and sad around his face, protesting the lack of proper care and concern. She’s not sure how he managed to walk here unmasked (and barefoot), but maybe the fact he’s not wearing a _stitch_ of his own clothing gave him the confidence to pretend _he wasn’t Kylo Ren_.

Why would Kylo Ren be wandering the ship in too-short pants, carrying a stinking, squelching, oozing sack? Why indeed?

“Can I just… can you tell me if my hair smells? I washed it about seven times.”  


Yes, she does remember that, too. “Of course,” she says, and leans in to sniff. “Smells okay to me.”

“Great. I… uh…”  


“I have a t-shirt you can borrow,” she offers. “An oversized one I got for sleeping in. It should…” she hefts his chest in her hands, “…cover these.”  


“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses her. “I didn’t mock you.”  


“You thought about it.”   


“That’s different to doing it,” he replies. “Which you are.”  


“I just think you look… stunning. Maybe longer pants, but otherwise…”  


“…I’m going to shower again,” he grumbles. “I’m sure there’s still gunk on me.”  


Phasma lifts an eyebrow. “Shall I join you?”

“Only if you don’t make any bad puns.”  


“Would I…”  



End file.
